


In Which Phil Coulson Becomes Jealous of (and gets Advice from) Tony Stark of all People...

by BeneficialAddiction



Series: Boxers, Briefs, and Other Shorts [13]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Coffee, Coffee date, Finally, Get Together, Jealousy, Relationship Advice, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony just needs friends, Tony might help with all that, Unrequited Crush, Widow's Bites, because boomerang, boomerang arrow, friendship gifts, he is a genius after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneficialAddiction/pseuds/BeneficialAddiction
Summary: Turns out the guy *is* a genius.





	1. Chapter 1

Phil's been fighting Tony Stark for a long time, more than a year. 

It's exhausting. 

The man is suspicious, egotistical, paranoid, a colossal pain in the ass, and while Phil can't blame him after what happened with Stane and his kidnapping in Afghanistan, the revelation of his identity as Iron Man, it doesn't make the genius any easier to bear. 

Still, Fury wants him, his allegiance if he can have it, his cooperation at the very least, so Phil works him, and works him, and works him some more. 

It doesn't seem to be getting any easier. 

In fact, bitching about Tony Stark during Strike Team Delta's weekly movie night has practically become Phil's most beloved hobby. Clint, who shares a lot of Stark's primary personality traits but in whom Phil tolerates them – because, just, _because_ – only chuckles and says maybe Stark wouldn't be so bad if Phil really got to know him. Natasha, who has worked with Stark while undercover as his secretary and should be more sympathetic, just smiles and keeps quiet. 

Phil's a little dumbfounded, and a little hurt, by his two favorite assets' lack of support, until the day Tony Stark – billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist – comes swanning into the SHIELD cafeteria like he belongs there and then... well... confuses him even _more._

"Mr. Stark," he greets, turning away from the chow line to shake his hand, masking his surprise and eyeing the plastic case he's carrying with concern. "I wasn't expecting to see you here anytime soon. But I'm happy to escort you to my office, if you're ready to discuss a contract with SHIELD." 

He's already got one hand out in a guiding gesture – Tony Stark really should _not_ be allowed to wander around headquarters unsupervised, but the man just laughs and brushes him off, shaking his head as he glances around the crowded cafeteria, ignoring the multitude of agents staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. 

"Not here to see you Agent Agent," he sniffs, then lifts a hand in greeting as he takes a step toward the line of tables along one wall. "Barton!" 

Phil blinks, confused, but then there's Clint, dropping his burger with a splat and getting up to clap his arms around Tony in a hug, a _real hug._

"Tony!" he cheers with a grin, slapping him on the back before leaning back to punch him lightly in the stomach and jerk his chin at the case in Stark's hand. "Aw, you brought me lunch to work! You shouldn't have." 

"Not for you Hawk-ass," he grins with a wink, teeth showing sharp. "Where's Spy Games?" 

And well, maybe it had taken him a minute to catch up to Tony's penchant for nicknames, but that one's easy enough. Every agent in the cafeteria gasps, the room going dead silent except for the ping of a fork falling from numb fingers, and Phil's pretty sure his balls actually crawl back up into his body looking for cover. There's only one other agent Clint hangs out with regularly, and she's standing right behind Stark with a cafeteria tray in her hands, Stark, who suddenly looks incredibly squishy and soft outside of his suit of powered steel. 

Clint's eyes flick blatantly over Tony's shoulder and the man turns with a startled yip, banging his hip off the edge of the table as he turns. Natasha smirks, slowly puts her tray down and reaches for him, and Phil snaps himself out of it quick enough to take a few strides forward, because as much of a pain in the ass as he is, Stark is still a civilian and the lunch ladies have threatened to stop dessert production if one more disembowelment occurs on their highly polished floors. 

He's not fast enough though – Natasha has her hands on his shoulders before he can get there, and then she's... she's... 

She's pulling him into a hug, not quite the intimate thing he'd shared with Clint, but still allowing for the man to press a light kiss to each of her cheeks. 

"Told you to stop doing that," Tony whines, and Natasha laughs, a clean, gentle sound she rarely makes. 

"Stark," she greets stepping back and folding her arms over her chest. "You look good." 

He does too – the palladium poisoning he'd been suffering from has been cleared up and he looks much, much healthier than he had even a month ago. 

"And you, my dear, as lovely as ever," he replies with a dramatic, gallant bow. Straightening up, he elbows Clint hard in the side, earns a laugh as he smirks. "A little birdie told me it was your birthday – digging the new bling by the way." 

Phil blinks, shocked. 

He's right, of course he's right – it _is_ Natasha's self-chosen birthday today, but as far as Phil was concerned only the three of them had known it. That morning he'd given her two tickets to the ballet and offered to escort her, an offer she had eagerly accepted, and Clint had dropped out of the vents overhead to fasten a thin, delicate chain of gold around her neck as they walked to a mission brief. Stark had indicated the little charm with a nod of his chin, the golden arrow that, in the vein of interlocking friendship charms, could actually be fired by one of Clint's wrist-mounted mini-bows. Natasha touches it with the tips of her fingers, smiles softly, and around him Phil feels the onlooking agents shift uncomfortably, no doubt wondering now if they should have offered up some sort of sacrifice to placate the Black Widow on this, the day of her birth. 

"I brought you a _present,"_ Stark singsongs, lifting the case and wiggling it back and forth. "May I?" 

"You didn't have to," Natasha says demurely, but allowing Tony to take her hand in his all the same. 

He waggles his eyebrows outrageously, plants a kiss on her knuckles before handing the case off to Clint, who holds it up like a showcase girl and flicks open the lid for Stark to reach inside. 

"Gloves?" the archer asks, sounding surprised for the first time in this whole little scene. "Dude, it's April." 

"Oh ye, of little faith," Tony chuckles, lifting a fingerless glove of what appears to be black leather and slipping it onto Natasha's hand. Reaching back into the case, he removes a bracelet, wraps it around her wrist and fixes it to the glove, plugging two tiny components together. 

"Ginger Snaps," he says, eyes on his work and ignoring the intense interest of his wider audience, "I gift you, the Widow's Bite." 

There's a click, a tiny electric whir, and suddenly a line of neon blue races around the gauntlet on Natasha's wrist, shooting down the back of her hand to the steel dots along her knuckles. Tony slips around behind her, wraps one arm around her waist and slides one down the length of her extended arm to support her wrist as he tucks his chin over her shoulder, aims at the wall. 

"Phasers set to stun..." he says, "You remember that time you shot the repulsor?" 

Natasha hums and makes a small movement with her hand, frowning when nothing happens. 

"Yeah, this doesn't work like that," Tony laughs, and earns himself an elbow to the ribs for his trouble. "Ow! Pay attention. This is for you, not me. You aren't wearing a suit – you couldn't handle the kick-back long. Besides, you seem to appreciate a more... hands on approach?" 

"I do." 

"Kinky! Ok, so, the backs of the knuckles are the points of contact. You punch somebody in the face and _zap!_ It's pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. So. We need a volunteer from the audience..." 

Finally, _finally_ Stark looks up and around and the room bursts into movement, agents scrambling for the doors faster than the time Barton set off a smoke bomb in an industrial-sized pot of chili. The three of them burst into laughter as they watch the chaos, only sobering when Phil is the only on-looker left. 

"Oh, you're still here," Tony says, sounding somewhat befuddled. "You want to volunteer? Cause..." 

"Be nice," Natasha scolds, stepping away and flexing her fingers, examining the glove. 

"Yeah Stark, we _like_ Phil," Clint chimes in with a wide smirk, tossing him a wink that makes his heart skip. "Don't break him." 

"Wait, _Phil?"_ Stark scoffs, shaking his head. "His first name's _Agent."_

"Mr. Stark..." Phil begins, feeling very suddenly at a disadvantage, awkward and will-at-ease. He's never seen the man this relaxed, this... _soft._ "I..." 

_"Thank you_ Tony," Natasha cuts in, reaching up to press a longer, more lingering kiss to Tony's cheek, and Phil's never in his life been more happy to be interrupted. "You certainly know what to get a girl for a special occasion." 

Stark actually blushes, retrieving the case from Clint and snapping it closed. 

"Pepper helped," he says, and Clint laughs. 

"Come down to the gym," Natasha suggests, flicking Phil a look. "I want to see how they work." 

"My pleasure Spider-Lady," Stark grins. 

Offering her his arm, he lets Natasha take his elbow and guide him deeper into the building than he's ever been willing to go, leaving Phil standing dumbstruck in the empty cafeteria, Clint chuckling beside him. 

"Told you he wasn't so bad Boss," he says with a smirk, and then he's gone, taking off after them at a trot. 

Phil watches him sling his arm around Starks' shoulders and tug him close, their hips bumping, and feels something hot and green bubble up in the pit of his belly.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next three months he learns what Clint means. It's as if, now that the secret's out, Stark has been welcomed into the fold, brought into all of Strike Team Delta's exploits both outside and inside of SHIELD. 

To be fair, it makes Phil's job that much easier. Stark starts consulting, just on their ops, making a claim that it's only to keep his friends safe where he doesn't trust SHEILD to do it, but over time he slowly begins to branch out, helping here and there where Fury manages to ask him nicely. He even mellows a bit after the whole coming-out-as-Iron-Man debacle, and Phil realizes that he's actually glad the man has Clint and Natasha for friends. 

That's what they are, he realizes, the third time Stark breaks into SHIELD, this time doing just as Clint joked by bringing the archer lunch. It's sushi flown fresh from Japan – apparently he'd greatly increased the distance the suit could travel in one run. He'd brought enough for Natasha and handed it off to Phil when he was told she was out on an op, commandeering his office for the three of them and then proceeding to ignore Phil entirely in favor of the younger agent. He hasn't gotten the whole story, he's still not _quite_ sure how they met, but they've known each other since before Stark was kidnapped and stayed incredibly close. 

He confronted Natasha, of course he had, because she'd been assigned to go undercover as Stark's secretary for a time. She'd only shrugged, said she'd tried to tell Fury there was a better way to get that information but he hadn't listened. She'd done as she was assigned, then spent her time having lunch with Pepper Potts and feeding them information she'd simply asked Stark for instead of stole from him, and really Phil's too embarrassed to reprimand her for it. 

He doesn't care that Natasha's friends with him anyway. He recognizes the potential in Tony Stark to go wrong, to go dangerously dark, what with the PTSD and the paranoia and the weight of being who he was born. Having two people he clearly trusted and relied on, got along with and actually _cared about_ gave him two more people on his side, two more people along with Pepper and James Rhodes who kept him grounded, kept him _stable._ He couldn't begrudge the man that, and really, Clint _was_ right. 

Tony wasn't half bad once Phil got to know him, got to know _Tony,_ not Anthony Stark or Iron Man. He had fears and flaws and needs just like anyone else, and once Phil had started treating him like a person instead of an objective, started acknowledging him on an even level, the genius began to open up and all his sharp edges gentled down. He still called Phil 'Agent' but he does it affectionately, the way he teases Natasha with spy names and Clint with the names of famous archers. He accepts and initiates casual touch, and doesn't jump when Phil moves too close. He starts paying for things or dropping off little anonymous gifts – his way of initiating friendship, Clint tells him. 

So no, he's not so bad, and Phil doesn't mind his friendship with Natasha or even the one he's apparently trying to build with Phil himself. 

What he finds he does mind, much to his shock and shame, is that he very much minds the man's relationship with one Agent Clinton F. Barton, World's Greatest Marksman. 

Phil is aware, thank you, of his feelings towards Clint. 

It would be foolish of him to deny it, even to himself. 

More foolish, however, to let it show, especially considering that, left unsupervised, Clint is a raging flirt. 

See the jealousy he is currently experiencing. 

It's horrible, downright god-awful to want something that Tony Stark has, he who could have anyone he wanted. Oh, Phil doesn't think they're sleeping together – thank god, he'd have to shoot himself – but there's an easy camaraderie between them that he can't help but envy. They touch each other so easily, so casually, flirt and grin and bat their eyes and it isn't fair. He can feel Natasha laughing at him when they're all together, has to consciously stop himself from grinding his teeth, but it drives him to madness to see Clint's arm slung around the smaller man's waist, his chin tucked over the top of his head as he watches Stark work over one of his lab benches. 

It _hurts._

He tries not to let it show, not only to salvage some small piece of his own dignity but to keep it from Stark himself. It seems cruel somehow to take that from him, the simplicity of a much-needed friendship simply because Phil wants something he can't have. He can't imagine a world where Clint would accept an advance from him, even if Phil is often included in Barton's flirtatious comm chatter. Natasha calls him an idiot in Russian but he refuses to take the risk, and besides, he just might die of embarrassment if Stark ever found out anyway. 

He shouldn't have counted on it. 

Only a few short months have passed since the scene in the cafeteria. Natasha adores her Widow's Bites, as does SHIELD, but Stark has yet to cave to building them anything even resembling a weapon. Phil doesn't mind all that much – he can appreciate the change in direction Tony's company took after his captivity in the Middle East – but Clint's bitching is about to drive him up the wall. The archer's own birthday was rapidly approaching and he'd been making louder and louder demands for a more and more expensive sports car as the date drew near. Finally, a week out, Tony has joined them for a casual after-missions brunch and casually tosses out the question – _'If you could have any kind of arrow you wanted, what would it be?'_

Clint of course responds immediately, so sure of his answer that it flows casually and confidently off his tongue, like he hasn't even registered the question and yet has been waiting his entire life to answer it. 

"Boomerang arrow." 

It takes a minute to click but Phil recognizes the moment Clint understands what is happening, just in time to stuff his fingers in his ears. Clint squeals like a fangirl and the two spend the rest of brunch jabbering back and forth and drawing designs on the (nice, cloth) napkins with an ink pen. Stark leaves a huge tip and the two head off back to the labs in Stark Tower, leaving Phil to steam miserably and Natasha to chuckle, not unkindly beside him. 

Three days to go and Phil still hasn’t figured out a gift for his asset, his _friend_ that will even come close to his boyhood dream of a boomerang arrow. It's not fair – he's never had this problem before, never agonizes over it so much. He's given Clint many things over the years; from that first hot meal he'd bought him the night he'd recruited the archer to his first SHIELD-issued bow, and a dozen hand-picked trinkets in between. The choice has never felt so important, and he refuses to believe it has anything to do with Stark, to the jealousy that simmers in the pit of his stomach like a sickness whenever he sees the two men together. 

Doesn't mean he does a good job of masking it – Stark calls him on it the moment he wanders into the kitchen of Stark Tower and finds him waiting. 

"Who pissed in your CornFlakes Agent?" he asks, more curious than anything as he dives into the fridge, a tablet and stylus dangling from one hand. 

Phil's been sent over to collect SHIELD's wayward archer, who had been on stand down for the weekend and was now dragging his feet about getting back to work. He's been sitting at the island waiting on him for twenty minutes, unwilling to put himself through the angst of dragging Barton out of one of Stark's beds and failing miserably at keeping that sentiment off his face. 

"Mr. Stark," he replies cooly. 

It's practically code between them now – Phil calls him Stark when he needs to let him know he's not in the mood to be toyed with and he calls Phil Coulson when he's feeling... _off._ It works, surprisingly, because they're both willing to acknowledge and respect the other's cues, which is good because Phil now realizes that actually tasing the man probably wouldn't go over that well. 

Tony pops out from the fridge to cock an eyebrow at him before he shrugs, comes out with one of his disgusting green health smoothies and sits down at the island across from him. 

"All work and no play makes Coulson a dull boy," he warns, "But fine. Be that way. I need your opinion as Agent Agent anyway." 

Sliding the tablet across to him, he points with the stylus. 

"So the boomerang..." 

"There is _nothing_ I can offer you with regard to that," Phil snaps, shoving the tablet back. 

Immediately he's mortified by the relatively mild outburst, one that is nonetheless a huge crack in his Agent mask, a huge tell. Stark is staring at him with something too close to concern for Phil's comfort before he lifts a hand and strokes over his goatee like a mad scientist, like he's just figured something out. 

_"Oh."_

"Oh _what?"_ Phil snarls, his blood suddenly boiling, and it's a dare, oh it's a fucking _dare_ for Stark to open his mouth again because Phil's going to punch him in it. 

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, spinning the tablet and sketching across the surface. "Just... it's only money, you know? It's just a _thing."_

"It's _not_ just a thing," he growls, getting to his feet, his hands fisted. "You're giving him something he _wants,_ something I... something _no one_ else could possibly give him. How does someone _compete_ with Tony Stark? Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?" 

Stark actually snorts, he chokes on a laugh so hard, lifting his head and staring at Phil with the most dumbfounded expression he's possibly ever worn. 

"You're kidding right?" he demands, bringing Phil up short, the blood flushing hot into his cheeks. "Coulson, I know you're not as smart as _me_ but you're not an idiot. Hell, a shitty cup of two dollar coffee would mean more than anything _I_ could throw at Merida so long as it came from _you."_

He says it so easily, so casually, like it's the known and accepted truth. 

He doesn't even bother to lift his head, doesn't even bother to look at him. 

Just goes right on tweaking the design for that stupid arrow, and leaving Phil standing there gaping like a fish. 

"What... I don't..." 

Stark's head snaps up and he narrows his eyes, looking Phil up and down like he's studying him before a look of horror crosses his face. 

"Oh my god," he mutters, leaning back on his stool. "Oh... my god. Natasha was _right._ You... you don't actually _know_ do you?" 

"Doesn't know what?" 

Phil flinches, very nearly recoils from Clint's arrival in the kitchen, but Stark covers for him beautifully while he tries to swallow his heart and a sudden, sickening swell of hope back down into his stomach. 

"That you're the one who poured the glitter onto the blades of Fury's ceiling fan," he shrugs, and then he's up and out of his seat and strolling away like he hasn't just... completely turned Phil's world upside down.


	3. Chapter 3

It's not fair. 

He shouldn't have to have a come-to-jesus moment at the hands of Tony Stark. 

Of all people, why did it have to be _his_ advice that Phil took to heart, that crept into his brain and wouldn't go? 

Sure, he was a certified genius, but that was no excuse. 

Really he's just disgusted with himself. 

It makes sense, when he thinks about it. Natasha's been encouraging him for years to go to Clint, to talk, to _confess._ But she's Phil's friend, cares about him more than she cares about everyone but Barton himself, and he's never been sure she's objective enough to trust. He doesn't think she'd send him to slaughter just to get some relief from the pining, no, but he's always doubted that she's as sure of the thing as she seems, and really that's the crux of the problem. 

He's a greedy bastard, and he doesn't want to lose what he has trying for more. 

Not with Clint anyway. 

So he's kept silent, tried to keep his crush (oh, who's he kidding anyway, it's way more than a crush) under control. 

Never said, never slipped, even when Clint's flirting makes him want to whimper over the comms, even when he strips off in a safehouse and makes him want to _weep._

He thinks sometimes maybe he wasn't the best at it, didn't do the greatest job. He can count a handful of times over the years that Clint had paused, had really _looked_ at him, making Phil's heart jump up into his throat in panic, but the archer had never asked, had never pushed. He'd taken that as a sign, but now he wonders if maybe Clint wasn't just... maybe just as scared as he was. 

He doesn't think that's right. 

Clint has always been the brave one, the reckless one, jumped without a line where Phil has always been tediously careful, had backup plans for his backup plans. 

But maybe it's different. 

He certainly knows it is for him, and the way Stark had said it, the way he'd tossed it off so easily in the same flat tone he uses when he rambles off a dozen known facts based on solid, concrete evidence... 

Well he's ashamed to say it's given him _hope,_ and now he's got less than seventy two hours to figure all this out. 

To... to man up. 

He doesn't think he's ever been so afraid of anything in his life, but he supposes that means something. 

So. 

Clint's birthday comes and Phil avoids him all morning, but promises Natasha that he'll meet them in the lounge at lunch for the cake Stark's bringing in. He'd rather do it in his office, at Stark Tower, hell, anywhere but in the middle of HQ where there are any dozen agents at any given time to witness what could be the shittiest moment of his entire adult life, but he will. 

He'll be there, and he'll do it, if only because he knows Clint's feelings are bruised by his avoidance these last few days. 

He pops out as quickly as he can when one o'clock hits, grabs what he hopes will be a birthday present to rival Stark's in Clint's eyes. He makes it back in record time but is still running a tiny bit late; is pleased to find the lounge mostly empty when he gets back. There are a few agents scattered about – there always are, especially when free food appears – but for the moment Clint and Tony and Natasha have mostly commandeered a corner. They're grouped around a table, a giant chocolate cake in the middle, and Clint's got a paper party hat on his head, grinning widely as Stark jokes and jostles him chummily. There are boxes wrapped in purple paper on the table, half opened, and Clint's got a long, narrow one in his hands. 

"Hey Phil!" he calls, his smile widening when he sees him approach, but it's not _quite_ the same smile that he usually gets and it feels like a deep, low drumbeat in his chest. 

"Sorry I'm late," he says, taking a seat at Natasha's side. "What did I miss?" 

"I opened Nat's present," Clint admits, half guilty and half sly. 

He knows Phil knows what she got him already, of course he does, so he doesn't begrudge the man an early start. He's gotten far too few presents in his life, far too few birthday celebrations, but as always Natasha has seen to that. There's a five-pound box of candy on the table, a few empty wrappers scattered around, and Clint will get another one every month for the next year, each from a different country - a gift that keeps on giving. 

Phil hopes... 

Well, he _hopes._

"Mine next," Tony demands, glancing in Phil's direction, at the paper cup in his hands. "I mean you know what it is but..." 

But Clint's already tearing into the box, ripping it open with glee and delight, taking the slender arrow out of it's case with reverant hands. 

"Boomerang arrow," he breathes, and Phil shifts uncomfortably, tries not to clench up his jaw. "Holy shit, this really works?" 

"Of course it works," Tony scoffs, waving one hand airily before reaching for a knife. "Let's eat this cake and you can go down to the range to try it out." 

"Oh my god, _yes!"_ Clint cheers, smile stretching across his face as he bounces in his seat. "This is so cool – thanks man. Ten year old me would be freaking out if he knew this would actually be a thing one day." 

"Thirty-three year old you is freaking out," Phil chuckles, unable to stay upset in the face of Clint's joy, sheer, unadulterated happiness. "Um, here. Happy Birthday Clint." 

"Screamin' Bean?" he asks, his eyes lighting up as he reaches for the cup Phil hands over. "This is my favorite – you never let me have this." 

He doesn't either. The coffee shop is famous for the high caffeine and sugar content of their drinks and he rarely allows the sniper such an indulgence when he can help it. He thinks that maybe it's worth it, this risk, just to watch the way Clint's face shifts, the way his eyes change as his focus moves so easily between a gift from Tony Stark to a gift from Phil, just as grateful, just as pleased. He suddenly feels terrible for the way he'd acted earlier in the week, the things he'd said. Clint's never been a materialistic man, always been sadly, painfully thankful for any little thing that came his way. With him it was truly the thought that had always counted, and Phil hopes that this time the thought behind the gift will matter more. 

"Um, Boss?" he asks, expression shifting to confusion and his voice quirking. "This is empty? What..." 

Phil can tell the very moment Clint notices what's written on the paper cup, Phil's neat scrawl down the side – his name and cell phone number. He has it already but show surprising restraint in using it, has never called Phil with trivial nonsense or even just to pester him. 

He hopes... 

"Yeah," he replies, clearing his throat. "I thought... maybe we could go for coffee sometime? If you want." 

Clint looks up from where he's been tracing his fingertips over the numbers, stares at him stunned, his beautiful eyes searching Phil's face like he's afraid it's a cruel joke. 

"What like, the two of us?" he asks, abruptly younger and more hesitant than Phil's ever heard. "Like a date?" 

Phil takes a deep breath. 

"If you want." 

Clint doesn't answer. 

Or... he _does,_ just... not with his mouth, not the way Phil's expecting. 

The grin that spreads across his face is so wide it threatens to break it and then he's on his feet so quick Phil almost can't track the movement. He grabs on to Phil's wrist and is hauling him up out of his chair before he can get with the program, bouncing on the balls of his feet so hard he's hopping as he tries to haul Phil toward the door. 

"I thought you wanted..." he stumbles, and then immediately wants to slap a hand over his mouth even as he gestures toward the boomerang arrow lying abandoned on the table. 

"Nope, coffee," Clint demands, tugging his arm, still smiling like he'll never stop. _"Date coffee._ I might've been waiting my whole life for a boomerang arrow but I've been hoping _forever_ for this." 

Stark's laughing loudly, Natasha's laughing silently, but Phil doesn't care because Clint is smiling, the fingers of one hand wrapped tightly around his wrist and the other caressing the skin on the inside of his forearm, slipped beneath the edge of the cuff. This is... this is hope, and wonder, and more of a chance than he'd ever thought he'd have, and he's taking it, even if it took a push from Tony Stark of all people to do it. 

The man himself is smirking, a self-contented little smirk that's smug as anything and makes the hair on the back of Phil's neck stand up, but he's not saying anything so he lets it slide. Instead he cuts them two huge corner slices of cake, thick with icing and tucks them into a styrofoam container that he somehow had conveniently on hand, shoving it under Phil's arm as Natasha frees Clint from his paper party hat and tries to straighten him up just a bit. 

This isn't how he'd ever imagined it – and he's imagined it a lot of ways – but Phil finds he doesn't care. 

This is enough, _more_ than simply _enough,_ and later, when he's stealing a kiss that tastes like coffee and birthday cake, he has to admit that Stark had given him some good advice. 

Apparently the man's a genius after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Imagining how different Tony Stark would be if he had a few more friends he absolutely trusted and relied on...


End file.
